


A Therapeutic Chain of Events

by Iggy_Lovechild



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Pre-Defenders, post s2 of DD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iggy_Lovechild/pseuds/Iggy_Lovechild
Summary: Though trying to end his vigilante career, Matt dons the suit for another night, and happens to save an Englishman from a rather sound beating by some mob heavies. Finding his scent alluring, he has a difficult time forgetting about the encounter, but tries to push it aside, convinced that they'll never meet again. The Englishman in question is one John Constantine, on a bit of a holiday, and making bad choices. Though fascinated by the vigilante had saved him, John also strives to move past the event. Mundane coincidence brings them back together and though Matt knows who he is from minute one, John only believes he is meeting a handsome man. As they engage in an affair, Matt's developing feelings stirs old fears and the question of if he should divulge the secret identity he is struggling to leave in the past.





	1. The Devil and Mr. Constantine

**Author's Note:**

> While my intense fondness for this pairing is rooted in tumblr RP, this story is a construct apart from that rather than an altered transcript of any previous writing.
> 
> Obviously these characters do not belong to me. My portrayal of Matt is based heavily on the Netflix series, both in personal history and overall personality. John, by contrast, is based entirely on bits and pieces (there are a few story arcs and writers I intensely dislike and choose to ignore) of Vertigo's Hellblazer comic series. No copyright infringement is intended and I'm not making money off this. This is just a wee labor of love.
> 
> I am planning this as a multi-chapter fic. Don't really have any idea how long it's going to be and it is not currently a completed project so I guess like...check back from time to time or hell, mark it as something you get alerts for. I'd like to try to post at least two chapters a week.
> 
> Sorry for the lengthy notes and disclaimer. I'm a bit old school.

Matt had been thinking about the man for days.

While it wasn’t unusual for him to keep the people he’d saved in his thoughts after all was said and done, he’d been less preoccupied by the other man’s safety and more obsessed with the way he’d smelled. It had been a backslide on his commitment to leave Daredevil behind him. Some nights were harder than others; they were just so loud sometimes and hard to ignore the suffering of others. It had ended in an alley with a man being jumped by several mob heavies that Matt had handily dispatched. Tough though they’d been, Matt was tougher, faster, and hit harder, not to mention the terror that came with his reputation. Ten minutes later, he’d been helping their victim off the ground. He’d smelled of blood, sweat, and lingering cigarette smoke, but underneath all that had been something far more compelling. It hadn’t the sharp after burn of cologne to tickle his nose and live in the back of his throat. It was the sort of scent you didn’t really have words for. Metaphor and elicited feelings. All Matt knew was that he’d smelled _amazing_.

He’d also seemed to express a mutual interest. Nothing new, even in the costume, though Matt could never quite understand. Aside from the lower half of his face, he was completely covered, although he supposed that he cut quite the figure given the tightness of the suit. In the aftermath, Matt had asked if he was okay or needed to go to the hospital. Apart from a few cuts and bruises, the man assured him he’d live and introduced himself as John. He had a heavy English accent. That was that. Matt hadn’t asked why he’d been in that situation. Maybe he should have, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him at the time. Even had he been less than an innocent victim himself, four against one was hardly fair. Unless Matt was the one, of course.

While it hadn’t been a bad experience, per ce, Matt was determined not to let it happen again. He thought the good nights were the worst when it came to his self-control on the matter. It was easy to remember the heartache of losing Elektra and straining his friendships as very good reasons to hang up the suit, not to mention the personal danger if not to his body, certainly his entire life’s work and ambitions. Less so coming off the exhausted satisfaction of productive night on patrol that lead him to meeting an Englishman that sounded like they were probably handsome and smelled positively intoxicating. 

Matt wondered if he could find him again, perhaps meet him outside such dire straits. It wasn’t a thought he felt that he should linger on realistically. Manhattan was huge and Matt seldom went far beyond the limits of Hell’s Kitchen. Judging from the man’s thick accent and the fact that he had never smelled anything quite like him before, he was probably a tourist, less an expat. Even if he did meet him again, in a more favourable situation, Matt likely would avoid any serious interaction. He wasn’t the sort of man to engage in frivolous affairs, after all, and he wasn’t sure he could take it so freshly in the wake of Elektra’s death. Hardly seemed very respectful to go on the rebound with a man who would likely be gone sooner than later. 

Matt tried to scrub him from his mind, but the memory of his voice and the maddeningly alluring scent haunted him. Much as he rationalized all the reasons that he shouldn’t, Matt truly doubted he’d be able to resist the temptation to at least enjoy his company platonically. He’d been terribly lonely of late, after all. A man was no good in isolation. Even if he generally thought that he was better off alone, lest he put people he loved in danger, Matt had to admit that he preferred _not_ being alone.

***  
It had been reckless and stupid to gamble with gangsters, but at least he’d met someone and not just _anyone_.

John didn't always make a habit of following the international news cycle, but American crime stories were often batshit crazy enough to catch his attention. Whether it be about a cult or depraved serial killer, it was hard not to take notice. For once, it hadn’t been the criminal that had garnered so much attention, but the mysterious vigilante that had helped to take him down. Clad in a skin tight body suit and a helmet with devil horns on it, they called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. An interesting distinction, that. John found it slightly amusing that someone would invoke the devil for their crime fighting persona, but he supposed it was no less ridiculous than the other costumes those lot wore to conceal their identity. Preying on the concept of sin was rather more effective than any vicious animal by John’s measure.

Of course he couldn’t confidently say that he was handsome. John hadn’t seen much between the darkness and the mask. He hadn’t even seen the shine of his eyes due to them being covered by the top half of the head piece. John thought that was clever of him, eliminating such an easy point of weakness, though he couldn’t imagine it was easy to see out of. It’d made what little he’d seen of the fight rather impressive in retrospect. He’d been agile and sounded like he hit hard. John could say for certain that the man had a nice mouth and the kind of jaw line that belonged on a film star. When he’d spoken briefly with John to ascertain his well-being, John had been surprised by how soft spoken he’d been. There was no posturing to sound hard, seemingly no attempt to change his voice aside from a faint lack of tone. It had been compelling. John wondered how he could see him again without putting himself in danger. Tricky, tricky, especially considering the risk. What if he didn’t come save him? 

In the end, he really had not a clue what he was entertaining. Seeing him again? Starting something up with him? It was rather absurd and painfully typical. Was he so damaged by the loss of Kit that such a relationship was preferable to something that actually had meaning? It was just so bloody pathetic. The vague sense of guilt drove him out of the small room he was renting and into the streets to smother the desire in other possibilities and the perverse hope of danger finding him with its usual ease.

 


	2. Serendipity(?)

The fall chill was present but not yet so oppressive that Matt was driven to hibernation. There was a park not far from his apartment building that he sometimes visited when he was feeling too cooped up. Since the break up of Nelson and Murdock and the loss of that office space, Matt found that he’d become prone to restlessness. He supposed it certainly didn’t help that between an absent social life and his determination to put an end to Daredevil, Matt didn’t get out much aside from court dates. Seemed he was among the few to want to enjoy the brisk afternoon, and besides the civilized life teeming along the edge. Though the sounds should have been distant, they were like the background noise some people created for themselves from the speakers of headphones. Snippets of conversation like half-remembered song lyrics impinged on the overall quiet in his immediate vicinity, car sounds, the esoteric hum of power lines, and rumble of subway trains far below his feet. 

Matt settled at a picnic table after stretching his legs on a brisk walk, forgoing his cane for the time being. Lunch was last night’s takeaway and he debated on continuing to enjoy the relative quiet or try to do some work. As his mind drifted on that vague deliberation, he heard movement nearby. Matt canted his head, momentarily distracted. He smelled coffee and cigarette smoke, footsteps shifted off the concrete path to move across the grass. They were light but measured. Matt didn’t get the feeling that he was trying to sneak up on him. The wind shifted and the scent hit him like a slap to the face. It was _John_. His lips parted briefly on a small intake of breath before he swallowed hard and composed himself. A coincidence and nothing more, but still a stunning turn of events. Was he coming toward him with deliberation or would he pass right by? John certainly had no reason to recognize him. So little of his face was visible under the mask and the alley they’d met had been scarcely lit.

The closer he came the more his scent and body spoke to him. Matt wasn’t sure if the faint acceleration of the man’s heartbeat had to do with the combination of nicotine and caffeine or something more, but the small change in the way he smelled was unmistakable. There were certain scents Matt couldn’t quite articulate. There were large swaths of his experience that he didn’t have words for. Desire, attraction, arousal, that was one of them, but he knew it. Usually it was something he ignored, but it was hard to when it was drifting closer, imperceptibly directed toward him.

***

John was hungover in a park. Not a new experience but few things were. He hadn’t been to bed yet, so he wasn’t really sure if he could be called hungover so much as shagged out from the lash he was coming off of. His saving grace was that he’d managed to care enough to freshen up before this desperate attempt to clear his head and find some kind of direction to this impromptu holiday. Showered, shaved, teeth brushed, the lingering flavour of mint in his mouth made the coffee he was drinking taste weird.

It was one of those parks that tried to be everything to everyone. There was an absurdly small bike trail, benches, public restrooms, a playground, and even wee wooden picnic tables to eat. Despite this, it was completely empty. John felt like he was the only person on Earth. Perhaps that was why he noticed the man eating his lunch alone. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to go meet him. John didn’t ignore his gut instincts as a general rule. As he drew closer to the man, he noticed that he was terrible good-looking. Dark hair, handsome to be sure, but not in a way that seemed intangible. There was something very real about the man, and it was highly alluring. John often felt deeply disconnected from reality as it existed on this plane. He walked, he existed in far too many for one mortal man to remain as sane as he managed.

“Do you mind?” John asked, coffee in hand, cigarette smouldering between two fingers.

The corners of the man’s mouth curled into the smallest smile, polite but not condescending. John couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden behind small, round sunglasses with red lenses. However it was a bright day and John didn’t think much of it. “Not at all.”

“Ta -- I’m John.”

The man nodded, twirled a fork in a tupperware bowl of noodles. John felt a pang of hunger upon smelling the peanut sauce and sucked a little harder on the filter of his cigarette. “Matthew -- Matt,” he replied. His voice had a mild, warm tone, that typical American flat inflection. 

As he turned and exhaled a stream of smoke before looking at the cigarette and back at his new companion. “Do you mind?”

“It’s fine,” Matt shrugged. “I actually don’t dislike the smell.”

“That’s a surprise,” John an arched an eyebrow.

“Ironic, I’d be more willing to say. People burn incense and logs in a fireplace, and call it homey.”

John grinned, charmed. “Aye, never thought of it that way.”

“I like your accent,” Matt pointed out. “English?”

“Yeah. Fancy yours, too. Native or transplant?”

“Native,” Matt shrugged. “Born and raised in the neightbourhood. Never even left Manhattan.”

“Really?” John asked, canting his head. “Well -- Reckon I don’t blame you. Got everything you need just round the corner, yeah?”

“Perhaps, but that’s not why I don’t travel.”

“Oh?”

“John -- I’m blind.”

***

He liked to get it out of the way if it wasn’t apparent at first blush. It was an important part of his life and identity, after all, and even if he wasn’t sold on the wisdom of pursuing his attraction to the man, letting it be a surprise could be awkward. A surprising amount of people considered blindness to be dealbreaker, as though becoming his lover was paramount to becoming his caretaker. John didn’t make a sound like shock or respond with even physiological surprise, merely nodded and sipped his coffee. 

“Hm, no, that wouldn’t be a very comfortable prospect at all,” John mused. “I imagine so much of your existence relies on predictable situations.”

“Not exactly,” Matt replied, a little surprised that he seemed interested in talking about it rather than simply brushing it aside or asking pointed, vaguely ignorant questions. “Big cities are always changing, you know, but the infrastructure -- “ Matt paused, wondering if he were sharing too much. He never knew from person to person just what they imagined being blind is like. Some just thought if was like going through life blindfolded, others wouldn’t at all be surprised by the extent of his senses. They already assumed being blind meant he had super powers.

“That never changes, does it?” John filled in the blanks of his trailed off sentence. Matt raised his eyebrows, actually eager to hear the man continue. He’d expected the man to hit on him, not engage so skillfully in conversation.”They’re built off the bones and backs of the dead and forgotten, after all. The ghosts always remain.”

Matt felt something stir in his chest, a deep ache. Dammit, he was smart _and_ intriguing. How completely unfair. John chuckled a moment later, and it was a low, pleasant sound.

“Sorry, mate. Got a bit deep there.”

“No -- No, it’s fine. It’s...nice.”

Matt really wanted to stay for a long time talking with John, but this really wasn’t the right time. Though he was working on his own time, Matt still worried about deadlines. He had to have a defense prepared and organized by the end of the week and it was already Wednesday. Matt sighed regretfully. 

“You sure about that?” John replied skeptically, apparently picking up on a certain tone in his exhalation. 

“Ah yes, I was just thinking that I have to go back home soon and I’d like to stay and talk with you.”

“So stay.” Matt could hear the smile in his voice.

“Sadly, I work from home.” 

“That _is_ unfortunate. Lend me your mobile. I’ll put my number in, you can call me, and we can meet up later.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, John?” Matt smirked faintly as he handed over his cell phone.

“Maybe. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not opposed,” Matt laughed quietly.

“Brill. You can ring me up any time. I keep odd hours.”

The smile didn’t leave his face as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He speared a piece of chicken from the depth of the Tupperware bowl that still had a substantial amount of food in it. “You’re not planning on leaving just yet, are you? I still have quite a bit of my lunch left.”

“Ain’t got nowhere to be,” John replied and Matt wondered if his smiles looked as nice as they sounded in his voice.

“Good, good. Tell me more about yourself, John. How long are you planning on staying in New York?” Matt was feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in an age. It was a nice sensation and he didn’t want it to end any time soon.

“Oh, I dunno. Depends on what happens. Could be a few days, could stick round for a few years.”

“Really? What kind of work do you do that allows for that kind of travel?” Matt asked, hardly judging, more just curious.

“Ah -- “ John was silent for a time and Matt worried over that pause. He narrowed his eyes from behind his glasses and tuned into his heartbeat. It was still a bit accelerated, and Matt wasn’t exactly fond of that. “Well...I deal in the metaphysics.”

That was vague. Matt furrowed his brow. “Like...astrology and crystals?”

“No...Christ. God no. I help people who have...paranormal problems.”

Matt canted his head. Judging from his physical tells, John wasn’t lying, or at the very least believed what he said was true. He really didn’t think he had any room to judge. There was a certain aspect of mysticism for Catholicism, after all. “Interesting -- How do you propose to do that?”

“Do you really want to know?” John asked, tone skeptical. 

“Good point,” Matt mused. “We should save that for our date. Seems like something better off discussed over drinks.”

The faint thread of unpleasant tension that had begun to form between them eased and once more he was treated to another nice chuckle from John. “Smooth.”

“I thought so.” 

“What do you do, then?”

“Lawyer.”

“And you’re eating old takeaway in a public park?”

Matt recognized the lightly teasing tone and took no offense to the comment. It did make him a little wistful, though, as he was reminded of Foggy’s mind for prosperity as well as justice. Matt just didn’t care that about money beyond making ends meet. 

“I do a lot of pro bono work,” Matt replied with a small shrug.

“Ah, and you work alone? Not with a partner and not for a firm? Isn’t that a lot of work for one bloke?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind it. Keeps me out of trouble.”

“Oh aye,” John’s tone lowered and Matt could hear the leer, smell the faint spike of arousal, which he found slightly surprising. He really hadn’t meant to be provocative. “What sort of trouble do you fancy, then?”

“Mark that down as another topic for our date,” Matt’s reply was wry and a bit flirtatious. In a reality an effortless dodge.

“Hopefully it’s more of a demonstration than discussion,” John bantered.” 

“We’ll see,” Matt demurred. 

They made a bit more light conversation before parting ways. Matt left the part lighter than he’d arrived. Was he a bit smitten? Maybe, but he was never sure how to pace a courtship. He felt a kind of urgency with the threat of John leaving before they could even begin. Matt wasn’t sure if he wanted to succumb to the temptation of falling into bed with him or try not to let pressing need to get close before he left get in his head.


	3. The Dating Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a date.

Matt didn’t call him until Saturday. While he’d been a bit nervous that John would be offended that he’d been out of communication for days, in the end he decided nothing could be gained from inaction, only lost, and Matt was sick of people falling out of his life. John answered on the second ring. His voice sounded a bit wary but pleasantly hopeful. Matt wondered if he’d been answering any number from this area code that way. Cautiously optimistic. It was a flattering thought.

“It’s Matt,” he greeted. “Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you.”

The other man’s voice changed in an instant, deepening ever so slightly and warming exponentially. “Not a problem, luv. How’re you, then? Staying out of trouble?”

Matt laughed quietly. There was a charming, melodic cadence to his accent. He liked thinking about how it would sound invading his space, words spoken intimately in his ear, breathed against his skin. A chill ran up his spine and he cleared his throat, trying to break the hypnotic spell of his reverie. “For the time being. What about you?”

“Been keeping a low profile, honestly,” John replied. The way he stopped abruptly made Matt think he was about to say something more but stopped himself.

He wondered if he’d been thinking about that night in the alley and if he were still technically in trouble. A shame he couldn’t ask, but it did make Matt a little more wary of just what he was getting into with John. Granted, you didn’t have to be a criminal to get the mob’s interest or ire but it certainly didn’t bode well for the rest of his stay in New York.

“That’s good. I’d have hated if the next time that I saw you was because you needed a good lawyer,” Matt teased lightly.

John snorted. “Please. That’d imply getting caught.”

“Oh? Is that a common factor in your life? Getting caught on bad behaviour?”

“That all depends on what you consider bad.” There was a darkness in John’s tone that Matt almost hated finding alluring. He could protest all he wanted, loudly and far too much, but Foggy had his number. Trouble and mystery were his top aphrodisiacs and John seemed to offer ample doses of both.

“Ah, an age old question,” Matt murmured.

“Indeed. What are you doing tonight?” John asked, going straight to the heart of the matter. Matt appreciated that.  
“Talking about good, evil, and the grey areas in between, perhaps over drinks.”

“That sounds promising. Where would you like to meet?” 

Matt hummed. He really didn’t want to bring him to his usual haunt. Not that he thought that John would mind a dive bar, just that he didn’t want the distraction of wondering if he’d run into any of his old friends. Too many questions that he didn’t want to answer, not to mention the fact that he just didn’t want John to see...whatever he would see in their faces when it came to how they felt about Matt. He heard the disappointment and pity in their tone, and he couldn’t imagine what their faces looked like.

“You pick,” Matt said. 

***

The Immigrant was a bit more posh than he usually went for and probably entirely wasted on a man who couldn’t appreciate the atmosphere, but John didn’t want to take advantage of that factor. It seemed rude. Definitely not the way to get a second date, in any case. They met at the door, and John experienced a fleeting, somewhat embarrassing sense of awe. It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten that Matt was handsome, but he was just so striking that John felt very lucky in that moment. 

As they made their initial pleasantries, John realized that it had been some time since he’d gone on a real date. He wasn’t sure if he should hug him and was distracted by the strong desire to kiss him but there were extra factors to consider with a man beyond gaining consent. Though he’d seemed very comfortable talking about and accepting a date with another man, that didn’t mean he would be comfortable with casual public displays of affection. Not that it wasn’t any different with a woman, but at least he could hold a bird’s hand on a date without it becoming a sideshow. It frustrated John that it was still this goddamned awkward.

“A wine bar?” Matt queried curiously as they passed through the door.

“They sell beer, too, I reckon. Why? Don’t fancy wine?” John asked, a bit anxious that he’d already buggered this night.

“No, it’s not that,” Matt shook his head. “I just don’t really know much about it aside from the fact that I don’t care much for most reds.”

“Aye,” John mused. “Bit strong, innit? Is your palate very sensitive?”

Matt’s eyebrows raised. He seemed surprised by the question, and John wondered if he had inadvertently offended him. “Ah, actually it is. Sometimes it’s a curse.”

“I can imagine.” John paused briefly before venturing. “Does it bother you that I asked about your senses?”

“No,” Matt replied. “Not many people ask, if I’m to be honest.” He smiled, and John thought there was something sad about it, though it could actually be more accurately called wistful. “I think people don’t like to draw attention to my blindness. It’s their version of sensitivity. As though I could ever forget.” There was no bitterness in his tone. It was genial and conversational. Somehow that made it almost worse. 

“Well, I’m a very curious bloke. Just tell me if I’m being a twat, yeah?”

Matt laughed. “I doubt it’ll come to that.”

They found a free table in a relatively quiet corner, and John went to get them a drink menu. The bartender gave him a weird look when he asked for one in braille. Though he frowned, he didn’t make a fuss. He’d learned long ago that he had to pick his battles, and at least in this case, he could read it to Matt as necessary.

Upon returning to the table, they discussed drinks, John retrieved them, and they slipped into easy conversation. John was finding that he really, really liked this guy. He liked his voice, his wit, the interesting way his expressions were both sincere and retrained. John couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something secretive in his very deliberate way of communicating. Of course, there were any number of reasons for that. It didn’t have to be suspicious. It was, however, very compelling. 

John was very good at reading people, and Matt wasn’t an open book like everyone else. Maybe it was because he’d yet to have seen his eyes uncovered by shades. There was a lot to be said about a person’s eyes, but John didn’t even know what colour Matt’s were. He didn’t really think that was the whole of it, thought. It was the care he took with his words, the language of obfuscation. John found it terribly fascinating. He was hanging on his every word, finding him easy to talk to and perhaps revealing more about himself than he usually did on a first date.

***

“Do you have family?” Matt asked idly as he sipped his beer. 

When John was quiet for a time and Matt worried that he’d perhaps inadvertently stepped into an awkward subject. He listened to his heartbeat and noticed no significant change, though John inhaled sharply.

“A bit,” John finally answered after more than enough time silence to make Matt regret the question. “A niece and -- That’s bout it, really.” He shrugged. “Me mum died during my birth, da’ was murdered, same for my sister.”

Matt’s eyes widened behind his dark glasses. That was a lot heavier that he’d thought it would be, yet he recognized the way John explained his situation. Practiced, resigned to old wounds, long since transformed into scars.

“My dad, too,” Matt confessed softly.

“What about your mum?”

“Dunno, never met her, she left some time after I was born. Dad didn’t talk about her much.”

“Well -- “ John sighed, shifting in his seat. “Quick, you want to change the subject or shall I?”

Matt grinned despite himself. It was actually pretty effective in taking the tension out of the moment. He canted his head dragged his fingers along the side of his glass as he considered the question. “Why did you choose this place?”

“Promise not to laugh?” John asked a bit sheepishly.

“That’s a loaded question, but I will try very hard,” Matt chuckled warmly.

“I looked up the best bars for first dates in Manhattan.”

Matt’s smile brightened. It was actually really quite sweet. “That’s adorable.”

“Cor, luv. I ain’t adorable.”

“That was a pretty cute thing you just said, John. Ergo, by that logic, you’re adorable.”

“Hmm -- I think we should just agree to disagree,” John replied skeptically, though the tone didn’t seem entirely serious.

“Fair enough,” Matt nodded, smirking slightly. “For the record, the effort is appreciated.”

“Googling something on me mobile doesn’t really constitute as effort, really. Just common sense, innit? Been awhile since the last I’ve been here, and big cities are hardly reliable when it comes to staying the same.”

“That’s true, especially since that incident,” Matt agreed.

“Which one then? The one that no one can quite explain what happened?” 

“Yeah, that one.” Of course most people that had witnessed it in some way knew that it hadn’t been remotely normal. The party line had been terrorists, and while that wasn’t entirely untrue, the situation had been a lot more complicated.

“Were you in the area when it happened? What was it like?”

“I was,” Matt remarked drily. “It was loud.” He’d also donned the black outfit in order to help control some of the chaos. While Matt had stayed away from the things that he didn’t understand, the reek of foreign metal and strange biological signatures, the criminal element hadn’t just disappeared. In fact it had risen sharply to take advantage of the madness. 

“Succinct,” John snorted softly.

“Thank you.”

The longer they lingered, the more crowded the bar was getting. Matt surmised that it was probably starting to get late, past the quieter evening hours and into the deeper night, drawing in the weekend clientele. The conversations of other people were starting to multiply around them, starting to distract Matt. John seemed to notice this and put a hand over one of Matt’s. The touch was intimate in a way it might not have been meant, but it couldn’t be helped. All touch was intimate to Matt, and there was a time that it had almost been agonizing, but he’d grown equal parts used to and grateful for it. He experienced the world on a level few people did and was determined not to take it for granted.

“Do you want to get out of here?” John asked. “Take a walk, maybe? Go to a different pub?”

“Yeah,” Matt breathed before clearing his throat. “I’d like that a lot.”  



End file.
